Provincial Letters

Far from the mad crowds of the city, Blaise Pascal passed comment on the strange behaviour of this urban contemporaries in his Provincial Letters. The connection between them and this blog is somewhat tenuous.

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Location: Grimsby, N E Lincolnshire, United Kingdom

My star sign in Superstition. And I didn't believe in reincarnation last time, either. The only thing I can't tolerate is intolerance. I am a fanatical ant-fanaticist. I am bigotted only where bigots are concerned. I am a fundamentalist atheist. I'm proud to be a product of evolution; I know it in my genes.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Posted @ 15:13Turophilia I

If you're having problems with the title of this piece, the following Greek reference sources may help: [ref1] [ref2] [ref3]. Oh, and there might be some pictures in the text below which will help. Oh, and the words may explain a bit (but don't expect too much).


The author wishes to disassociate himself and all true turophiliacs from the actions, opinions and behaviour of the militant Fromagists. We do not support their violent impositions of their beliefs upon innocent turophobics (no matter how misguided and immoral their beliefs may seem to us true believers): squirting chive & onion Primula at senior citizens in supermarkets will not convert the pagans. And all the stuff about rubbing cottage cheese into the firm breasts of naked females is just... ...excuse me, I need to go and lie down.

Anyway, the point is, they're not representative of true turophiliacs who are peace-loving and well-behaved (although they like cheese more than peace; and they quite like misbehaving with cheese in the privacy of their own homes... ...excuse me, I need to lie down again).


A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

James Joyce; Ulysses; Episode 6 - Hades

Turophilia — or thantolactophilia (work it out) as it's sometimes known — dates back to the dawn of human civilization. Since our stone-age ancestor left a bowl of sheep's milk outside a cave for several days until it went solid with a nice blue mould on it (and his wife came home from her mother's and says "What the hell's that smelly mess? And what did you leave it on that rock for?"), human beings have sought true enlightenment in the curdled remains of once-liquid milk. The near-miraculous production of such exalted substances from mundane mammary excretions was seem as both a metaphor for human progress and as a true expression of the meaning of the universe (let alone the marvellous manifestation of multitudinous mutations of words beginning with 'm').

The Unknown Prophet

Lost in the mists of time and rennet intoxication, the Unknown Prophet (a.k.a. Weltk√§semann) gave us all the Laws of Cheese (written on the sacred Gruyère of Neasden):

  1. There is no cheese but cheese and cheese shall be the whole of the law.
  2. You shall not covet thy neighbours' cheese (scoffing it is OK; coveting is not something which can be done with cheese).
  3. Honour thy cheese and enjoy it with crackers.
  4. Cheese never has the aroma of smelly feet; smelly feet have the aroma of neglected cheese. The fault is the feet, not the cheese.
  5. When two or three are gathered together, let them eat cheese (and possibly drink some alcoholic beverages).
  6. You cannot eat too much cheese; there is simply not enough time, nor enough cheese, to do this.

There are, in truth, ten Laws of Cheese, but the final four are part of the Secret Doctrine and cannot be revealed outside the sacred temples of cheese (a.k.a. the refrigerator; the chilled shelf at the supermarket; Swig's on a Saturday with Dave P and those meltingly smooth Carr's Cheese Melts).

Practicing Turophilia

Hmmm, cheese.

St Homer of Springfield

It is vitally important to practice turophilia as practice makes perfect and practice is hugely enjoyable. Some helpful hints will be presented to conclude this introduction:

  • always eat Welsh cheese carefully;
  • if you must read French literature, take it slowly, don't gorge on Zola;
  • in sport, always support the competitor called Bert (do I really have to spell out that this involves shouting "Come on Bert"?);

Want to know more about turophilia?

Whether you like it or not, there will be more on turophilia. Watch this blog.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

And if parading the streets mounted on long wooden sticks, if you get tired, be prepared to stilt on...


Tue Nov 28, 07:14:00 pm GMT 

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